


Tonight I Can Write

by bigbaldbae



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Judith is eighteen, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group, Romance, The Whisperers didn't exist here, and Carl is thirty-something and hotter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbaldbae/pseuds/bigbaldbae
Summary: Where a teenage Judith suddenly finds Rick's journal and goes through an emotional discovery of her father's deepest thoughts, their life before Alexandria, and the death that always surrounds them. And most likely, something else that involved Daryl.





	1. Leaning into the Afternoons

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Birds and the Bees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054328) by [TWDObsessive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive). 



> Another monster done out of boredom but mainly because of the fanfic mentioned above. Please do read for feel-good vibes. :D
> 
> Titles and lines came from Pablo Neruda's "Twenty Love Poems & A Song of Despair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to TWDObsessive's fanfic, be warned of angst for this one though. However, I am promising Rickyl will come up and a happy ending as well. ;)
> 
> *Changes made in this chapter imply additional editing.

* * *

 

_there were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit._

_there were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle._

\- **pablo neruda**

 

* * *

 

 It had all started one ordinary afternoon when Judith was simply looking for a hair tie.

Her long, light brown curls were becoming a nuisance, and despite making endless quips about cutting “only a few inches” off of it, Carl always said no, for whatever reason she’s still not aware of. He did mumble up a lame excuse when she asked for an explanation, saying that longer hair made her look feminine, and Judith did not consider that as an acceptable answer. Like the walking dead would ever give a damn about her looking like a girl and give her a second look while she rammed a knife between their lifeless white eyes. To her knowledge, a waif, teenage girl also wearing a faded camo top, hiking boots and a leather motorcycle vest isn’t under the girly category as well, if not for the angel wing pattern embroidered on the back giving her away.

Judith _is_ almost 18, capable enough of making her own decisions and can shoot a walker with an arrow a mile away with her eyes closed, but there is something about her older brother’s way of saying no that still scared her shitless, so she just gave up asking until said curls now reached the small of her back. It is currently summer in Alexandria, and she should’ve been used to the heat – heck, she grew up with heat, like her teacher Father Gabriel had told her. But of course, now noticing how her hair sticks to her nape and how annoyingly disgusting it felt, a ponytail should suffice. Wouldn’t want hair getting in the way, or worse, getting tangled up with the bolt on her old trusty crossbow, another memento given to her by a certain redneck hunter very close to her heart.

Judith was muttering to herself as she scrambled and rummaged through their study until she finally found a black rubber hair tie through messy mountains of books – and a small, tattered, leather clad journal, stuck in the deepest pile of old Western novels.

With a nervous gulp, Judith opened it tentatively and felt herself froze, now staring blankly at the journal in her hands. Based on how centuries-old it looked, all worn leather peeling by bits with yellowed pages almost falling apart only meant one thing, and the two initials written on the lower part of the very first page with black ink roused her inquisitiveness further.

 

**R.G.**

 

“Rick Grimes,” she deduced, her voice barely above a whisper. “Dad…”

Judith quickly hung the crossbow on her shoulder, clutched the journal on her chest like a lifeline, and quietly ran out of the study straight towards her bedroom in a matter of minutes. She looked around briefly before closing the door and locking it, then shook her head and immediately felt stupid for doing so, blaming the tracking skills that had programmed by itself in her neurons, thanks to her mentor’s intense training. Today she is alone in the house, her older brother Carl was out on a meeting with the Hilltop colony along with Rheese Rhee, Maggie’s son.

The thought of Rheese today saying goodbye to her before they left earlier that morning made Judith flush red as she leaned against the door – that warm smile, soulful dark brown eyes, jet black hair that shone under the sun, height and physique completely impossible for a mere 15 year old to have. She has a journal of her own dedicated for this silly crush she harbors, but decided to get to that later, as her father’s tattered journal screamed the more utmost importance.

Judith then walked toward the bed and set the old journal down flat on her mattress, removed the crossbow from her body and setting it down on the foot of the bed. Gathering unruly curls in a high ponytail and finally tying it, her mocha eyes narrowed curiously at the closed cover of the journal as if it’ll come alive and bite her any minute. She folded her arms across her chest with a huff, wondered if her dad or Carl purposely hid it, or if Carl even was aware that the journal existed to begin with. The first thought seemed more fitting, as something as important as a journal would not just wound up randomly in their study out of nowhere. Carl could’ve read it already, for all she knew.

So she sighed, grabbing the old journal, turning around and plopping down on the carpeted floor, picking up where she left off as she opened it again and read what was inscribed on the center part of the second page.

 

**Property of Rick Grimes**

**Former King County Sheriff's Deputy**

**Leader of the Alexandria Safe-Zone**

**If anyone should find this, please give this to my son Carl and my daughter Judith**

**Tell them I love them, and that I shall find my peace soon.**

 

Judith felt her brows raise on its own. Well _that_ was ominous.

Despite the neat script and the way the letters rounded up to contradict with the introduction, Judith suddenly felt that she was going into uncharted territory, and it made her uncomfortable. This was Rick Grimes’ personal journal, her father's deepest, darkest thoughts – a complete and utter invasion of someone else’s privacy, now just waiting to be laid out in the open upon her lap, and all it took was one turn of the page. A tiny voice in the back of her head scolded her, telling her to return it back to the study where it came from and forget she ever saw it, but curiosity was the sniggering devil on her shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in her ear to give in to temptation, clawing her insides like a wild animal.

Probably, it wouldn’t hurt to know more and possibly answer questions that remained hung up to dry in the air for _years_. Judith’s free hand absently thumbed an eyelet of the vest she wore, her fingers running through old wrinkled leather as she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing an incoming lump in her throat.

“You can do this, Judith Grimes,” she says, her voice coming out shakier than she originally intended. “Whatever you will read today, just remember what you promised Daryl, that you will always be strong. You will not cry over the stupidest things. You will only cry either when you’re alone, when you’re in Daddy arms or your boyfriend’s arms. You promised Daryl. Always remember that.”

The silence in the room answered back, the hot afternoon air thick as syrup. She had only been six then, when Daryl made her promise that, and he repeated it to her day after day until she memorized it, still following it to this day whenever the first ache of sadness comes in. Daryl Dixon always seemed to know everything, always seemed to know the right thing to say at the right time. Rick, without a shadow of a doubt, is and will always be her father and she loved him without question, but Daryl was her first teacher, her mentor, her second father…and everything else that she couldn’t put into words. Both of them made her the strong-willed spitfire she is now, which is why she survived this long. So she will _not_ cry over something like this.

Instead, she took a deep, calming breath after several minutes. Judith leaned her back against the bed, finally opened her eyes and turned to the next page with newfound determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up - Carl will be making an appearance next chapter. :)
> 
> Because I described Rheese Rhee on my own terms, below is a link of what I personally think Maggie and Glenn's son will look like. A few of you lot may get what I'm trying to point out, but for the rest that don't, consider this as eye candy. THIS IS IMPORTANT. :))) *cough* BUSANHAENG *cough*
> 
> http://data1.ibtimes.co.in/cache-img-0-450/en/full/617620/imggong-yoo.jpg
> 
> This is a WIP, so please tell me what you guys think. I don't bite. :D


	2. I Remember You As You Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I profusely apologize for making you all wait. So finally, here comes the second installment, a lot longer than I expected, and which I feel you may stone me to death for. ;)
> 
> Also, I made updates on the tags, so please take note of it. I had this story in my head with Father Gabriel already included, but after reading the TWD Wikia I found out that his character was already dead. So for the sake of this fic, let's say that the Whisperers War never took place at all. :D
> 
> Also, I borrowed lines from TWDObsessive's "The Birds and the Bees." Again, please check out her fics! :)))
> 
> I'll shut up, so you all can go ahead and read now. :)
> 
> *Changes made in this chapter imply additional editing.

* * *

 

_oh the mad coupling of hope and force_

_in which we merged and despaired._

**\- pablo neruda**

 

* * *

 

**Daryl & I decided to go on a run. Tonight I write this in front of a campfire next to this old box truck where we’ll be sleeping in, while Daryl is out hunting for them squirrels for dinner. We hadn’t had runs together for quite some time, not since Jesus happened and ‘Chonne’s floss and toothpaste ending up in a bottom of a lake. We got information from Maggie about this rundown cathedral used as a shelter once, and that it possibly holds supplies that would last us for years. We’re still hundreds of miles away but Daryl says we could reach it by tomorrow.  
**

**I hope that it has books, anything for Judy to learn about the old world. Carl and Daryl said she didn’t need them as we have enough books in the study, and that she would be a better fighter – heck at six she could track better and quieter than I ever could – but I want my little girl to be smart too. Would’ve wanted her to be a doctor or a teacher, would’ve wanted her to have a life that I had when I was a kid, but that’s impossible now. It’s good enough now that she’s alive, that she survived everything that I put her through, and I will do everything to keep it that way.**

 

Judith turned to the next page, only to find it blank. Same as the rest of the few following pages. She frowns.

_That's it?_

She is a self-confessed bookworm, reading random books in the spare time she has when she’s not on runs, hunting, or killing off walkers under adult supervision, and she scoured enough of them in their study to know what a cliffhanger is. She tipped the journal and shook it – despite reading the entire thing already – with hopes of a small note, a loose page, or just _something_ falling out that will serve as a continuation.

What _did_ fall out was what she least expected – an old family photograph. Judith froze slightly, then quickly picked it up and flipped it over.

 

 

Judith felt herself smiling a little at what looked like a perfect family once, overcome with nostalgia as she looked both at her father and little Carl’s smiling faces, back when Carl was still a child, back when her father had manageable curls and a clean shaven face, back when the life they took for granted was a lot easier. She had never seen her mother, and there were only descriptions of her provided to her in the past, but staring at the beaming woman on the picture now was like looking at her own reflection. Now she finally knew why Carl _wanted_ her hair long.

After studying the photograph more until her eyes became glassy, she stuck it between the journal’s pages, and clutched the journal on her chest as she leaned against the bed, taking deep breaths and telling herself over and over to calm down. Judith is becoming increasingly aware that she may not be able to keep her no-crying promise to Daryl after all, and that the whole ordeal was now doing a quite a number on her. The horrors, the gains and losses, life and death, surviving. Just as she suspected, not everything was revealed to her. No one told her it was _that_ horrible.

Rick’s psyche with the use of words tore through the pages and the ink, and she felt her father’s pain, his anger, and mostly being against himself and his own madness, and she felt for him so much that it overwhelmed her. Rick was no Murakami, but reading her father’s journal was almost like watching a movie – every entry, every scene was so vivid, it was almost like she was there to see it herself. In fact, she was so hooked she barely noticed the euphony of crickets and cicadas outside her window, the moonlight shining on her room telling her it was already nighttime.

It seemed that the entries had started from when the group resided in the prison, but of course Rick recalled what she already knew, beginning on the earliest days of the apocalypse – Rick waking up from a gunshot induced coma only to find out the world already ended and how he went through hell and back to find her mother Lori and Carl, the group getting out from the CDC to Atlanta, their brief time in the Greene farm until it burned down, that she was born in said prison, their near death experience in Terminus, and their mindless walk on the road before reaching the Alexandria Safe Zone.

At first, Rick’s journal had been quite difficult to understand, what with several time skips, the handwriting shifting from neat scripts to near illegible chicken scratches, and random entries that just pop out of nowhere, but remedied promptly after careful continuous reading and some back reading. There were some pages that Judith had dog-eared, reflecting several lines from her father that were particular and stood out to her.

 

**“This isn’t a democracy anymore.”**

 

Rick Grimes. Officer Friendly. Ricktatorship Rick. A family cop turned zero to ninety cold-blooded murderer real quick. There’ve been a number of things her father was remembered for, mostly from the original Alexandrians, and none of which were really nice, like Rick is a textbook example of desperation and sheer lunacy showing its ugly face. Yes, there have been times where Rick’s decisions – and Rick himself, is stupid and selfish, that he weighed too much on emotion than logic, but Judith was not one to judge. If anything, what Rick had written showed Judith her father’s own side of the story, and some of what she heard were far from what _she_ already heard about him as a leader, and far from the hardened killer he was known for, and for that her admiration for the man now grew even more.

 

**“This is how we survive. We tell ourselves – we are the walking dead.”**

 

It made Judith sad to learn how the end of the world completely screwed up one’s beliefs and principles, especially coming from Rick, a cop trained to serve and protect in the old world. But this was the new world now, and as days gone by, survival was Rick’s main goal, not just for himself but for the whole group. Even if it meant more blood on his hands, and even if it meant regressing to a primitive animal. There was no law, no order, and no such thing as morals anymore. Like someone up above wanted to restore balance to an already dark, shitty world and screwed up a monumental scale to make a darker, shittier revision of the Book of Genesis. That they would have to live the awful reality of waiting for death, reanimating as nothing more than a thing that only operates to eat and tear off flesh from the last remains of humanity, and praying that someone around them will be enough of a Good Samaritan to bury a knife or give them a gunshot wound through the head to end their misery.

 

**“I know Judith isn’t mine. I know it. I love her. She’s my daughter. But she isn’t mine.”**

 

Learning the fall of her father’s friendship with Shane, Judith couldn’t help but feel a quell of anger towards her mother, Lori. On how it all was her mother’s fault, like Judith was some form of atonement for Rick’s sins, for killing off the man that used to be his best friend, and for her mother dying through childbirth with everything still unresolved between them, leaving Judith with a minor identity crisis that she still fights against to this day. Then again, running around and carrying a baby for nine months while fending off the undead with no permanent residence was no walk in the park either, so Judith just swallows her anger and tried to be more understanding. Michonne had said once that anger makes one stupid, and stupid gets one killed. If Judith lets anger rule her, then she would be no different from the man –  _that_ man in all things considered, was her probable biological father.

 

**“I’m gonna kill you. Not today, not tomorrow, but I’m gonna kill you.”**

 

There had been several painful deaths that Rick and the group had to unfortunately endure, thanks to jackasses like the Governor, Gareth, the Wolves – Sophia, Dale, T-Dog, Andrea, Hershel and Beth Greene, Tyreese...the names went on and on, but none were as horrible as Glenn and Abraham’s, thanks to an even bigger jackass called Negan and the Saviors. After their apparent subjugation, Rick blamed himself for their deaths in the entirety of the entries, that if not for that daredevil mission in one of the Saviors’ outposts, both of them will still be alive. His father was greatly indebted to Glenn, not leaving Rick for dead back in the city, and for being the moral compass in most times Rick wasn’t seeing straight, and his death truly, and heavily affected him. And the fact that this psychopath once had his hands all over her was nothing short of disgusting. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been anything that showed Negan’s fate, but Judith surely hoped the asshole burned in hell.

 

**“You’re my brother.”**

 

And here it was, Daryl Dixon, Rick’s right hand man, best friend, trusted partner, a brother in arms. Daryl was just there, _always_ there and saved him too many times to count, the arrows of that legendary crossbow materializing through heads of walkers that came too near. And not only he was a good fighter, the man also had a good heart under that tough exterior, hunting for the group’s survival. She enjoyed majority of her childhood with Daryl when he brought her during hunts, where she learned to get her hands dirty. Even calling her “Girlie,” while he called her “Papa.” Now though, she decides Asskicker suits her better.

Judith admits that she has a _very slight_ hero worship going for Daryl. If asked, she would deny it with wide-eyed innocence, and barring that, would likely pass out from embarrassment. She liked to think her defense behaviors were modeled after her father, or rather – an opossum even, sans the hissing and rabies. But the fact remained that Daryl seemed like a slightly disgruntled white knight in her eyes.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door disrupted her thoughts.

“Judy?” It was Enid’s voice. “Carl just arrived. Come join us for dinner.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

The sound of footsteps descending down the stairs brought her back to reality. Judith bit her lip, then she took deep breaths a couple more times. She stood up and hurriedly slid the journal between her pillows, then went straight to her wall mirror to assess her reflection. She was flushed, but not something that would certainly cause a panic. When she was now satisfied seeing her face looked fairly normal, she picks up the crossbow from her bed and leaves the room, to greet her sister-in-law and her older brother down the stairs with a practiced smile.

But most definitely, she will demand an explanation from Carl later on, as soon as she gets time alone with him.

 

* * *

 

_Several nights later…_

 

Judith couldn’t sleep.

Ever since reading her father’s journal, she began to have this recurring dream of her 8 year old self and Daryl, together and hunting in the woods.

There seemed to be no significance to it at first. In the said dream, she recalls catching a buck, talking with Daryl, and saying something that caused the man to spit out the water he drank, then talking more as they poked around the deer. The conversation they had was somehow clear, light-hearted, and touching.

Judith could simply let it pass as something plain and ordinary, but the fact that she dreamed about it every night reveals it otherwise. She’s not even sure now if it was a dream or a long forgotten memory, because the details seemed far too real to become a dream.

To her annoyance though, whatever they talked about is completely wiped off from her memory once she wakes up. The feeling is almost like answering a test, like she knows what the answer is but not sure if it’s correct or not, all the more preventing her to answer, and it made her want to pull her hair out in frustration. Curiosity is somehow like a cockroach, stumbling upon secrets that are supposed to stay hidden. But not knowing the answer is what drives Judith up the wall.

She _did_ consider talking to Carl the first night after reading the journal, but then chickened out later on. A part of her wanted to keep this to herself for a while, once she fully convinces herself that she is right. Judith already deduced that her older brother knew about the Rick’s journal and that he had read it as well – only that he probably thought he lost it, judging from Enid’s complaints about her brother frequently losing stuff, using his mouth instead of his one good eye when it comes to looking, and Judith just happened to have found it in the study on the wrong time. Though her brother had been giving her strange looks her way these last few days, knowing that something is going on, he hadn’t bothered to approach her, as he was out most of the time anyway, from managing Alexandria then going to the Hilltop and the Kingdom.

Thinking about it now, Judith somehow felt there was an unknown entity lurking within the inanimate journal, something that she couldn't quite put a finger on. A small part of her is saying that it was all in her head, but again, curiosity gnawed her, biting off more than it could chew. Like it was so easy to miss yet so glaringly obvious at the same time.

Whatever the hell _it_ is, so far only two things are clear – first, Rick is definitely trying to tell her something, making her read between the lines – and second, that dream _definitely_ means something. The fact that the said dream only started when she finished the journal was enough to make anyone wonder. Both had to mean something. It just had to.

She read the journal again for some potential clues. There happened to be one random entry in the journal on what seemed to be a short list showing Rick’s favorite music, an asterisk specifically placed beside a certain _“Hey Jude”_ by The Beatles. And luckily enough, there was a turntable and some vinyl records on their living room that Carl had happened to acquire from the old Monroe house in the past. It was like a godsend, like the world was suddenly bending over backwards to help her in this little investigation of hers. Hopefully, this may unclog her brain a little.

But Judith soon forgot her main objective as soon as she placed the fifth vinyl, as she found classic music quite enjoyable to listen to. It ranged from Black Sabbath’s _“Iron Man”_ , Pixies’ _“Where is My Mind?”_ , Bob Marley’s _“Redemption Song”_ , The Rolling Stones' _"Gimme Shelter"_ , David Bowie’s _“Moonage Daydream”_ , Modern English’s _“I Melt With You”_ , Jethro Tull’s _“Sweet Dream”_ , and many others. However, when _"Hey Jude"_ came on…the song, the melody, the lyrics – it seemed so much like a lullaby her father had dedicated for her, and it left a warm feeling on Judith's chest, all the more confusing her. So once again, she is on a dead end.

Right now in their backyard, Judith took out her frustration by virtue of target practicing, the familiar metallic clink of the crossbow the only noise heard in the quiet, fairly cool night. It was late, almost 11 P.M., but Judith still had trouble sleeping. And still, it didn’t take her mind off things, as she hit on what seemed like a hundredth bull’s-eye on her target made out of a potato sack and a poorly drawn smiley face supported by a wood pole. Judith sighed as she walked towards the target to get her arrows back, then walked off and stood farther away from her previous standpoint, aimed and shot again. Aim, shoot, get arrows, walk farther, repeat, like clockwork. She knows she is being stupid, but this was better than pacing around in her room until she screamed.

It didn’t help as well that she couldn’t cry about it. Reading Rick’s journal now made her into this sensitive, emotional train wreck. Probably stressed out too, because of the lack of sleep, and imagining the all the hell her father went through. She badly wanted to cry, but she just can’t. Already drained as she is, crying will just be nothing more than a waste of energy.

Judith knows that she could just make things easier for herself, that she could just simply _ask_. If Carl wouldn’t take the initiative and say something to her, she could just march up to the Alexandria chapel to Father Gabriel. But no, she wanted to do it the hard way, figure everything out all by herself. More than anything else, she hated asking for help. Though Tara, Aaron, Eric, Rosita and Eugene are all approachable, she didn’t want to bother them at this hour. Michonne was the nearest, living only a few houses away, but she still intimidated her. Maggie, Jesus, and Sasha are in the Hilltop so that was already a no-go, Morgan, unfortunately, is on nomad mode and nowhere to be found at the moment, and Carol, part of the original Atlanta group, lives in the Kingdom and asking not to be bothered unless someone is getting killed. And most certainly, she didn’t want to go _directly_ to Rick and Daryl themselves.

Taking a break, Judith swings the crossbow on one shoulder while she pulled Rick’s journal from behind her, tucked under her vest and jeans. She flipped idly until she stopped on a random entry – which happened to be Daryl returning to the prison after putting down his older brother Merle, making her moan inwardly.

 _And it just had to be this entry._ But Judith still reads it anyway.

 

**Daryl finally went back tonight. Merle had been killed by the Governor, and I never really thought I’d consider that as bad news until today. Except the fucking prick didn’t even shoot him in the head, and his little brother had to see him when he turned. Daryl hadn’t talked to anyone when he came in, only said that he put Merle down, that no one else will do it but him, then gone straight to the roof. Carol said that we need to leave him be for a while.**

**Still, I went up the roof and saw Daryl was just there, staring at the stars. Didn’t even turn around when I walked behind him. Soon as I sat down next to him, I just looked straight up the sky, because he might be crying and I don’t really want to offend him. After several minutes he grunts “Ain’t gonna talk to you Rick.” As soon as he says that I stand up to leave, then I feel his hand tugging at my sleeve. He still wasn’t looking at me, and then after a longer while finally he says “Didn’t say you could leave.” So I didn’t. We just sat there, looked at the stars, just quiet. And if my presence somehow helped him, that would be enough for me.**

**Even though Merle was some misogynist asshole, he was the only remaining kin Daryl has left. But Daryl did say we were now his family too. Can’t imagine what would happen if it was Merle who had returned instead of Daryl, might’ve gone the deep end again it did. I can’t take another loss, not after Lori. Judith needs a father, and I don’t want Daryl shouldering that responsibility again. He already went through too much, and done way too much for us. Somehow I wish I could do something to give back, but Daryl was the type who does things without expecting anything in return. If this is enough for him, then I will stay. I will be staying with him for the long run, and I hope he does with me too.**

 

Judith sighs again, closing the journal shut then tucking it again from behind the waistband of her jeans. That particular entry still felt as painful from the first time she read it. Despite Merle being a misogynist asshole like her father said, probably he and Rick could still hit it off, probably would've been forgiven eventually by Glenn and Maggie, probably would've gotten along with the others. The suicide mission didn't need to happen, but Judith understood the sacrifice. The normalcy of death now was what, and still bothers her up to this day – the fact that they would have to kill , regardless if they turn or not, even if it meant their own flesh and blood.

Shaking her head, Judith takes the crossbow to begin practice again, aiming at her target but not really shooting. She’s had enough darkness to deal with from the last few days, so she decides thinking of a few good things she had read from the journal, a few light moments Rick had written that contrasted the bleary majority.

Like how he craved for coffee and Dunkin Donuts every day. Talking with Glenn while on watch and the Korean complaining on how he missed his PlayStation and Xbox, playing _Left-4-Dead_ and _The Last of Us._ How and when he will give Carl _“_ the birds and the bees” talk. Maggie being the best venison cook that they ever had. How he took anesthetics for granted whenever Hershel stitches him up. That drunk Merle is a lot easier to get along with than sober Merle. The first days Michonne stayed with them, and when he asks her a question he felt like he was talking to a brick wall. Beth’s lovely voice echoing on the prison walls when she sings. Developing an aversion to Carol’s cookies and an even bigger aversion towards flowers (which Judith thought was weird). Tara’s sarcasm and sense of humor, both of them cracking up while sharing their police academy experiences. How he was not really surprised after finding out that Eugene wasn't really a scientist. Inwardly wincing at Abraham’s frequent use of the word “dick.” Appreciation of Rosita’s…"arms" (what a pig, Judith thought). How hilarious it was when toddler Judith says "Coral", instead of Carl. How he could kiss Daryl and envied his low bedroom voice for putting Judith to sleep by reading Dale’s old book, _The Case of the Missing Man_ , and how he will be eternally grateful to the hunter.

Then it hit Judith, _hard_ , like the full force of a train. The blood roared on her ears, she doesn’t even hear the crossbow dropping from her hands on the grass beneath her with a soft thud.

_Wait. They…they…_

And finally, the long forgotten memory came back to her.

 

_“So since a boy and a girl make a baby, which boy made me? You or Daddy?”_

_“You gonna love one of us more if you found out who it was that made yah?”_

_“Noooo!”_

_“Then it shouldn't matter, should it? You belong to both of us. There ain't nothin’ that makes one of us more yours than the other.”_

 

“Oh my God,” Judith whimpers out, a hand covering her mouth. “They were _together_.”

She drops to the grass, a million thoughts swirling inside her, beyond her control. Everything now made sense, everything now clicked before her. The lack of information on her father’s love life, and the entries mostly evolved around the group, mostly about Carl and Judith. Daryl, however, was mentioned more than enough times, at least _thrice_ the number of times _than_ Carl and Judith, and the doodles of motorcycles, arrows and angel wings made her know that she could never be more right. She remembers now, the smoldering looks behind dark blue eyes, and the feelings behind them were anything _but_ platonic. Besides the one entry after the older Dixon’s death, and though there was no written proof whatsoever of direct contact or a love confession, Rick did leave her obvious clues, and a _lot_ of it.

On how Daryl became a much better friend than Shane would’ve been, and he couldn’t imagine not being his friend. On how it amazed him that he and Daryl could converse without words, just through their eyes. On the way he felt seething anger towards Daryl’s less-than-remorseful father after seeing the scars on his back for the first time. On how Daryl gave out most of his share of food just so everyone could eat, and mostly giving it to Lori when she was pregnant with her. On how Daryl suddenly became her second father, as he was the one who took care of her first when Rick was in dark place, reeling from Lori’s loss. On how worried he was as a mother hen when Daryl has been gone far too long on runs, and the instant relief that he feels when he sees him again. On how Daryl quickly stepped up that night to sacrifice himself, getting badly beaten and Carl being molested, and because of the fear that the same might happen to Daryl, Rick had to bite the neck off another man. On begging Daryl to stay in Alexandria, not just for the group, but for him, as he couldn't stand the hunter being away. On how he and Daryl still crack up when remembering that hilarious supply run that prompted them to meet Jesus for the first time, like they were some badly written version of slapstick comedy. On how Daryl was taken away while on his knees, during his near descent to madness. On how badly wanted to gut Negan and kill him, just do _anything_ to get Daryl back at his side again.

“Judith?”

It was the questioning voice of her older brother Carl, now behind her. She doesn’t even hear him coming up behind her, and she also realizes that she doesn’t care anymore.

“Nothing, I just…” Judith says after a while, intentionally stopping at mid-sentence. What the hell was she about to say anyway? Her mind was on full mode hyperdrive, thoughts and feelings she didn’t know she had overriding all logic and reasons at this revelation being shoved in her face. Carl was still deafeningly silent, waiting, but she couldn’t face him, not right now. Not at this point when she is close to bursting, not at this state she’s in.

But clearly, Carl wasn’t having any of it. He now places both his hands on Judith’s arms after a short while, pulling her up gently from the dirt, and turns her around to face him. Judith doesn’t look at him still, only sees the loose flannel shirt he wears and rumpled by the straps of a shoulder bag, and she doesn’t look at the bandages that covered his right eye like a reminder of all he went through, doesn’t look at the old sheriff’s hat atop his head and loose brown waves, both blatant reminders of Rick Grimes himself.

Before Judith realizes it, stray tears trickled down from her eyes, warm against her cheeks, and Carl’s face quickly contorted into a mask of worry.

“Hey, kiddo,” Carl says, a gun calloused hand wiping away tears, tilting his head to look at her. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

And that is when the tears comes down in earnest, the noise that she kept down in her throat for _days_ coming out from her mouth in small, muffled sobs.

_I’m sorry Papa._

So Judith finally does cry, for lack of a better answer. Carl no longer pushed and just gathered her in his arms, a hand rubbing her back and the other on her hair. Carl may not be her father, or a boyfriend, but she knows Daryl will forgive her. She badly needed this, and Carl was hardly ever affectionate with her, so she leaned against his chest and just wept and wept, welcoming his brother’s somehow comforting embrace.

After what seemed like forever Judith finally calmed down to soft, quiet sniffling. She didn’t even know why she cried to begin with, and she immediately berated herself for doing so when she felt the incoming pang of a headache. But Carl didn’t judge her, picking up the crossbow from the grass, bringing her to a nearby bench with a protective arm around her as they walked. They both sat down, with Carl placing the crossbow in a suitable distance beside her on the grass. Judith’s red rimmed eyes were on the hands on her lap until Carl hands her a handkerchief, and she accepts it gratefully. While she wiped her face she could feel Carl’s eye on her, tilting his head down to _really_ look at her.

“So I was right, you _were_ acting weird,” Carl finally says. “Can you now tell me what happened? You can talk to me, Judy. You can _always_ talk to me.”

Judith bit her lip, eyes still down on her lap. Though blurting out _“Hey, just found a diary about Dad and Daryl being in love”_ was easier said than done, she has yet to know the extent of what Carl knows himself. So she squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them again as she faces him, giving her older brother her best serious look, as she gets Rick’s journal from behind her and holds it up in front of him.

Almost immediately, Carl’s face drained of color, his good eye widening. “Oh.”

He then takes the journal from her, his other hand finding his way at the back of his head with a slightly embarrassed scratch. Judith observes him for a while.

“I’ve been looking for this,” Carl blurts out after several minutes. “Thought I lost it. Didn’t mean to keep this from you, just so you know.”

“ _Carl_.”

His brother looks up from the journal toward her, a questioning brow raised. An expression he usually does when Judith uses her _listen to me_ voice. Then she says something that he obviously didn’t expect, based from the small, sharp intake of breath that she heard.

“I think…I think that we should take a walk. I would like to see Dad and Daryl now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t a democracy anymore.” - #2.13 (Beside The Dying Fire)
> 
> “This is how we survive. We tell ourselves – we are the walking dead.” - #5.10 (Them)
> 
> “I know Judith isn’t mine. I know it. I love her. She’s my daughter. But she isn’t mine.” - #7.4 (Service)
> 
> “I’m gonna kill you. Not today, not tomorrow, but I’m gonna kill you.” - #7.1 (The Day Will Come When You Won't Be)
> 
> “You’re my brother.” - #4.16 (A)
> 
>    
> Coming up - Rick & Daryl will finally make an appearance. ;)
> 
> I hope this chapter didn't confuse the hell out of you. I'm actually wondering if I should include something that indicates the flashbacks, entries, and thoughts. Just tell me guys if I need to and I will make the necessary changes. :)
> 
> May take a while for me to update, as premed currently murders my state of being in the form of exams and thesis writing. This is the year people, where I shall become a walker myself. SOML. :| Also, I'm waiting for a certain someone who will allow me to use her artwork which I plan to use for the final chapter. Hope she'll allow me, but if not I may need to make some changes. :||
> 
> Thanks for the wonderful comments, and for being patient with me. :))) <3


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